Miracle
by Jack of All Suits
Summary: Disney-Based. An outing with 6-year-old Esmeralda starts out wrong and only gets worse. To think, all he wanted was alone-time and a loaf of bread.


**Here are some rough ages for this fic, to put things in perspective:**

**Clopin: 20, maybe 21**

**Esmeralda: 6**

**Frollo: 30-ish?**

**Therefore, Frollo is _not_ interested in Esmeralda for desire's sake, no one knows anything about Quasimodo, and Clopin is _not_ leading the Court of Miracles.**

**That being said, HoND belongs to Disney and Victor Hugo. Hail their asses for making something this fantastic.**

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* * *

  
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"Clopin! They said I couldn't _play_!"

He fumbled with the vase he had been toting before those petite hands wrapped around his knees, and for a moment it looked as though Esmeralda's hard head was going to be the breaking ground for his latest find. At the last second, however, Clopin performed an admirable save and tried valiantly to shimmy his newest burden away from his leg. "Who won't let you play, _cheri_?"

Her snotty, drooly, six-year-old face was buried too deep in his leg for Clopin to distinguish the response, but judging by the way in which the boys were looking away and shuffling with their makeshift swords, he gathered the answer. He sighed and juggled the vase into one hand, scooping her off the dirt with the other. "They're smelly _boys_ Esme! Rotten _garcons_! You don't want to play with them, do you?" Clopin hefted her weight a bit as he walked, and Esmeralda sniffled miserably into his shoulder.

"They're playing _pirates_!" She bemoaned, as though acting like more of a scallywag than usual(A _professional_ scallywag, she would argue) was tremendously appealing. "The girls only want to play with _dolls_ and I don't _like _dolls!" Esmeralda flopped bonelessly against Clopin's arm, and played with the feather on his hat while a thoroughly sour expression dominated her cute visage.

He shoved the vase off to a passing gypsy, who paused in unwrapping a pseudo-wound to take it. With both hands free, Clopin stroked Esmeralda's hair comfortingly. "You sleep with a dolly, _Cheri_. Don't you like _him_?" She'd better like him. He had toiled over that stitched nightmare for hours to ensure that the seams wouldn't split.

"Jacque is _different_, Clopin!" She hollered with a look of devastation unique to little girls who firmly believed that their dolly was as alive as anything and anyone else. "You _know_ that! He's not a dolly! He's _Jacque!_"

"Yes, yes, of course! Sorry, Little Esme, sorry! I forgot!" Clopin giggled when one of her fists slapped his shoulder. "Of course you couldn't play with Jacque. He's so easily offended!" He hoisted her onto his shoulders and she clung to the top of his hat, swinging her feet until Clopin grabbed them lest she fall off. "So what will you do today, Cheri, if the smelly-nasty boys won't let you play with them? Auntie Lucille always needs help. She's baking today!"

"Auntie gets angry at me when I try to help." Esmeralda lamented, falling dramatically over Clopin's head and staring him in the eye. "She said I was almost as bad as _you_ and it wasn't a condiment!"

"Compliment." Clopin corrected in amusement, and her eyes narrowed in irritation. "Ah, sorry, sorry. Well, do you want to play with the girls? Maybe you can dance a bit! Show off?" She shook her head miserably and Clopin sighed to himself. Why were little girls so difficult? Ever since she had hit the tender age of four, Esme had been as impossible as a flying pig. "_Cheri_, I have to go out today! You can't play with _me_!"

Now came the water works. Just a few little lip wobbles at first and a shaky "Wh-why _not_?". Clopin grimaced and rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to bend today. No, he was _not_ dragging Esmeralda around Paris this afternoon. He wanted to have at least an _hour_ by _himself_ to actually get some food in his stomach without grimy little fingers snatching it away, or someone shoving even more jobs onto him. "Why _not_ Clopin? Don't you like me anymore?"

Oh, she was weeping now, and he knew she had fountains running out of her eyes _and_ nose _and_ mouth. Probably making a valiant effort to wipe it all away and only smearing it. Clopin sighed and swung her off his shoulders and into his arms, where he proceeded to pull out a handkerchief to wipe away the mess. "I have things to do, _Cheri_." He explained as gently as he could, "Things that you're too small to do. You understand?" Judging by that horrified expression, Clopin didn't think she did. "You can't always follow _me_ around, Esmeralda! There are lots of people to play with! I'm sure the girls aren't bad if you give them a chance." He tried to set her on the ground, but she stubbornly clung on.

"You're my _favorite_!" Esmeralda bawled. "And now you _hate_ me! Why?_ Why can't I cooommme_?" They were garnering a crowd now, and Clopin swallowed. Not again. She was spoiled, really… well, as spoiled as a gypsy could be. He glanced left and right for some escape route, but there was none. He was stuck with a loud, sobbing necklace, and the old ladies were starting to 'tsk tsk'.

"Esme, _Esme_!" She looked up and Clopin pursed his lips, unwilling to bend, but knowing it was the only way to stay sane. "Agh, fine." She screamed in delight and the crowd dispersed with great amusement. Once again, Clopin Trouillefou had melted before their very eyes. It didn't get old.

"But you're staying on my _shoulders_." He scolded. "No running around. It's dangerous." Clopin helped her back onto his shoulders, and he started walking, keeping both hands wrapped around her calves. There had been a dozen incidents that had ended with Esmeralda falling six feet onto her head, and he could do without _that_ happening again for the rest of his life. "You understand, Esmeralda? Stay put!"

"Yes Clo_pin_!" She hollered excitedly. "I'll be good, you'll see! You won't even know I'm here! I'll be really quiet and you'll forget I'm here, okay?"

* * *

She was gone.

Clopin resisted the urge to gouge out his own eyes to punish himself for his stupidity, and made due by hooking his fingers in his eyelids and dragging them down. Where was she? He'd left her tucked behind some boxes while he grabbed a loaf of bread, and now she had decided to go run off.

Today was Friday, and that meant danger. It was the day Frollo did personal rounds with his guards and gypsies were always high on the list of unwanted pests. Esmeralda would get herself crushed if she decided to go play with _that_ pony. "Esme?" Clopin darted through the crowd, following a head of black hair. He saw her pink skirt and ran faster, dodging around carts and horses. "Esmeralda!"

"Here I am, Clopin! Here I am!" She stopped with a wide smile and Clopin grabbed her little arms before she could possibly move. Esmeralda's grin died slightly and she looked at him uncertainly. Clopin was angry, and he wasn't hiding it very well. That was unusual – he _never_ got angry at Esme! She was his favorite little _ange_.

He took a steadying breath, and his heart rate began to return to normal. It was all right. He had her now. Frollo hadn't gotten his hands on her. "I told you to stay _put_." Clopin hissed. "Do you remember what I said, Esmeralda? I told you this was _dangerous_ and that this was not a _game_!" He shook her shoulders, but bit back the brunt of his fury. Clopin would put the fear of God in her, but he would never, ever risk hurting her.

"I know, but I—"

"Then _why_ did you move, Esme?" Clopin demanded hoarsely. "_Merde_, girl! I think my heart stopped beating for a while!"

She started weeping pathetically, and she held out a leather ball meekly. "Somebody dropped it an' I thought I-I-it would be _fun_!" Esmeralda sobbed, and Clopin suddenly felt rather guilty for terrorizing her about moving. She was young, and he should have known better than to take her with him.

So he gathered her up in his arms and proceeded to tell her some nonsense story about three bears and a very silly little girl. "Stop crying now, Esme. I'm not mad anymore!" Clopin insisted. "Come on, _ange_, can I have a smile, please?"

She shook her head into his shoulder. "You _were_ mad." Esmeralda argued. "You were mad at _me_."

"Because you ran off and gave poor Clopin a fright!" He insisted, patting her hair and playing with a few locks. He spun them around his fingers then let them fall back down, slightly curlier than before. His eyes were focused on her now, rather than roving the street as always.

Esmeralda sniffled. "You don't _get_ scared. You're Clopin!" She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he frowned briefly. Was that how he came off? Clopin spent half of every day scared out of his wits, wondering who was going to die next.

"Yes, I do, Esme. That's why you shouldn't do things like that. You don't _want_ to scare me, do you?" He whipped his little friend, fondly called Puppet out of his tunic and bounced him around playfully. "Why, _monsieur_, I think Esme here _wants_ me to be scared!"

"Oh that's terrible!" Puppet squealed. "Our Esme isn't like that at all!"

"_Non_ I don't think so either, _monsieur_." Clopin winked at her, and she gave a watery giggle. "But I guess if she insists that she—"

"_No!_" She broke out in giggles and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shh! I don't want you to be scared anymore, okay?"

He gently pulled her hand away. "Will you listen to me from now on?" He teased, though with a very serious undertone.

"Yes Clopin, I'm sorry."

"Would you like to visit Notre-Dame?" They were practically in its courtyard anyway, and Esmeralda had a strange fixation on the statues lining the interior. "Would that cheer up my _petite ange_?"

"Yes! Yes! Let's go! Let's go, Clopin!"

He set her on the ground, keeping a tight grip on her tiny hand as they slipped into the plaza outside the cathedral. Clopin stared up at it with an expression of disgust, but Esmeralda's enthusiasm was contagious. "What will we look at first, little _belle_?"

"Mary!"

"I see. Are we going to visit the Archdeacon?"

"Yes, he has _candy_!" She said this with all the reverence in the world. As though an archdeacon with a sweet tooth was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to Paris. They walked forward the cathedral, back to their usual playful banter.

"Yes, I assure you, _that_ gypsy child just stole my boy's toy."

Clopin's hand clenched over Esmeralda's and he let out a sharp breath. One glance proved his worst fear to be true. Frollo and a handful of soldiers were on the move. "Esme, may I see your new ball?" He asked as calmly as he could. Clopin grabbed it from her before she could respond, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle any indignant cries.

"Go to Notre-Dame," He muttered frantically. "When you get there, yell 'sanctuary' as loud as you can, _oui_?" Clopin pushed her away, towards the great doors of Notre-Dame. "See if the Archdeacon has some candy. And do _not_ leave."

She held onto his hand stubbornly. "Why?" Esmeralda implored. "Are you going to come with me?" She looked at the approaching soldiers.

Clopin thought about running, but he knew if they did, they would be caught with ease. However, Frollo would surely be more interested in _him_ than in…

"What have we here?" A pale hand closed around Esmeralda's other arm and Clopin's heart stopped briefly. His mouth ran dry and he felt sick. "I suppose they start training them early. No matter. Give me the stolen goods, girl." She pulled away, and Clopin hastily held out the ball.

"She didn't take it. I did." He said tensely, tightening his grip on Esmeralda's arm. She wasn't going anywhere but Notre-Dame, and Clopin would make sure of that. He wondered if Frollo would arrest a child, but then he scoffed at the very thought.

He would probably lop off one of her hands and say that she was lucky.

"I have a detailed description of who stole this _citizen's_ property, Gypsy, and it is not you. Release the girl."

"No."

There was a moment of shocked silence(Apart from Esmeralda's weepy whimpers) and Clopin could almost see the second proverbial foot about to fall. Frollo's eyes widened, then narrowed briefly. Clopin tightened his grip on Esmeralda as something flitted over the judge's lips that looked to be some sick mockery of a smile. "Perhaps I did not make myself clear, _rat_." His bejeweled fingers clenched the child's arm ever more tightly, staking his claim to her. "Release the girl!"

"I suppose _I_ wasn't clear either, monsieur. I said _no_!" Clopin's heart was about to beat out of his chest, and he could feel fear spreading over him, making his back tingle and his palms sweat. This was like walking into a lion's den waving around fresh meat.

Frollo gestured once from atop his horse and his men were quick to approach Clopin. Esmeralda shrieked and pulled against the Judge even harder, throwing all her weight towards Clopin. Perhaps had she been a bigger girl it might have done something, but as it were, Frollo's grip stayed strong.

A hand landed on Clopin shoulder and he did all that he could think of.

In a swift move he had lost his knife somewhere in Frollo's billowing robes and Esmeralda was free. Doing all that he could, Clopin grabbed her by the back of her shirt and threw her at the church. She sailed spectacularly onto the steps and proceeded to climb, sobbing as she did. Clopin watched carefully until she had managed to pry open one of the vast doors.

He grinned in spite of the guards rushing at him. Maybe this was not much, but Clopin felt as though he had won for once against the authority in Paris.

Something solid hit his head, and he fell forward. The oasis of unconsciousness was only breached by a sharply squealed "Sanctuary!" From within the walls of Notre-Dame.

* * *

Clopin was found guilty of theft, sorcery, and the attempted murder of a lawful man(Was that what Frollo was called nowadays?). The punishment was death by hanging, of course, and Clopin had been unconscious for the trial. It didn't seem to deter the court, and he was woken the following morning by a bucket of cold water.

"Time to die, Gypsy."

That's what they had said.

Clopin wasn't sure what he could do as he stood in the cart that would drag him to his death. He wondered if Esmeralda was still in Notre-Dame(She had better be! If he had to die to get her there, she ought to never leave), and if news would reach the Court of Miracles. Maybe they could come out and see his corpses floating on the breeze.

The cart hit a bump and Clopin swallowed some vomit. Let's take this one step at a time, _oui_?

The crowd wasn't particularly large. It seemed that only half curious housewives really cared about prosecuting gypsy scum. That was rather depressing, wasn't it? If he had to die, Clopin would have liked to see a crowd.

Oh well, at least he wasn't getting pelted with produce.

He stepped off the cart obediently, and ascended to the gallows with whatever dignity he could manage. Clopin clenched his fists when they started shaking, but nothing could stop the paling of his skin when the noose was tightened around his neck. Dying was probably a painful experience. Clopin wasn't looking forward to it.

He scanned the crowd again, releasing a shaky breath. Caught. Dead. Words of that sort flashed across his mind and for a moment Clopin even felt a faint coming upon him. Before he could hang himself accidentally, however, footfalls made him look up.

Judge Claude Frollo looked thoroughly… blank. There was a spark of something in his eye, but Clopin wasn't sure if it was rage, fury, anger or madness. Whatever it was, it made the already imposing man cut an even more intimidating figure. Had he not been about to die, Clopin may have been fearful, but as it were he felt tired and disgusted.

"Do you have any final confessions, Gypsy?" Clopin raised an eyebrow. He had expected the Archdeacon or a priest to do this task. Certainly not Frollo, who was, he saw with delight, heavily favoring one leg.

Clopin feigned deep thought, pursing his lips. "Just one," He said at last, with a wicked smirk. "I regret missing." He looked at Frollo's leg pointedly and gave a bark of laughter. The terror of the gallows was driving him mad.

"Heathen!" Frollo spat the word as an insult, but Clopin didn't take it as such. As far as he could tell, no one on Earth was getting into Heaven anyway. No one that _he_ wanted to spend eternity talking to, anyway.

Nevertheless, it was tiring to constantly hear insults. He was about to die, what more did they want? "I have a name, you know." Clopin pointed out darkly.

Frollo sneered, though it might have been a smile on any other face. "If you're still alive in ten minutes, _Gypsy_, I'll worry about your name." He turned then and descended the staircase briskly, gesturing at the executioner. Clopin felt his terror returning tenfold, and he gulped as his charges were read aloud.

Thievery

He was going to die.

Assault on the Honorable Judge Claude Frollo

He wasn't going to squirm his way out of this one.

Sorcery

Nothing was saving him now.

The punishment of which is

The drums started.

_**Death.**_

_He needed a miracle._

Clopin watched the drummers quicken their tempo, and no amount of clenching could stop his hands from trembling. The tempo quickened, quickened, quickened, then stopped abruptly. The trapdoor sprung open and he bit down, grimacing as he fell.

A resounding thud, and Clopin hit the ground. He grabbed at his throat, but the noose hadn't even tightened. He was alive. The crowd stared in silence, just as shocked as he was. He looked up, and spied a knife burrowed into the gallows.

Clopin stood up shakily, one of his knees was aching, but he could live(_live_) with it for now. A hand grabbed his shoulder, yet it was friendly. A gypsy. He let himself be dragged several feet while the guards and Frollo remained stunned.

He stopped, though, at the last moment, and felt a cheeky grin return to his lips. Clopin pointed at Frollo and winked. "My name is Clopin Trouillefou, Monsieur. I think you'll remember it now!" Then they were gone, vanished into the rapidly assembled crowd. There were cries to search the city, but it was too late. The gypsy scum had won this round.

If Clopin ever insulted the catacombs again, he gave full permission to whomever he was with to hit him. For the first time in years he saw the beauty of their hideaway, despite the foul smelling sewage and skeletons. He stumbled over his own feet, voice caught somewhere between laughter and sobbing. "Who did that? Which one of you _idiots_ did that?" Clopin exclaimed, startled by his own uneven tone.

The group of them(Four, he thought) shrugged, and kept a hold on his arms lest he fall. They walked in silence for a spell, during which time Clopin ripped the noose from his neck and threw it aside vehemently.

"Answer me, please?"

Clopin regretted being unable to bring up any names for the faces, but they didn't seem to expect any recognition. "It was Pierre's knife, but I threw it. Gaston tried to catch you when you fell, but he was slow." The explanation was brief, but Clopin didn't complain. "We wouldn't have known if Esmeralda hadn't shown up last night in a tizzy." They laughed as a unit.

"Why would you…" Clopin didn't want to finish the question, but it hung in the air anyway. _Why would they save him?_ It made no sense. Gypsies were hung every other day. What was special about him?

They shrugged, and eventually the only called Pierre replied. "Too quiet without you, I guess. And Esme would be hell to deal with." Clopin grinned weakly as the light of the Court suddenly flooded around them. He stared around in silence, and broke off from the group of impromptu rescuers. He straightened up and brushed a hand over the white tunic he'd been stuck with.

"_Merci, mes amis_." He said with a smile. "Anything you want me to do…"

"We know." They answered as one, and Clopin felt a bit of dread welling up in his chest. That sounded like the promise of many favours to come.

He crossed the Court, enjoying the silence. It was only just past dawn, after all. He hadn't expected anyone to be awake. It was good, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and nurse his headache. No need to tell the story of his adventures yet.

Clopin pushed open the door to his little room, and closed it behind him with a thud. He let out a shaky breath then staggered towards his bed, finally favoring his aching knee. He sank onto the straw, but bounded back up with a yelp. Someone was _there_!

"Who the _hell_…" He pulled the blanket back, and whatever it was launched itself at him.

"_Clopin!_" He caught Esmeralda reflexively and sat down in shock. "Where _were_ you? I was scared! I saw Mary, and the Archdeacon gave me even more candy than usual! But you didn't come in, Clopin! Why didn't you come in? You _threw_ me, Clopin! Why'd you do that? I scraped my knee! Wanna see it? Are you still _mad_ at me? She burrowed into his arms.

"No, not at all _Cheri_." He answered blankly. "_Non_, I'm not mad at all. Why are you in here?"

"Waiting for you."

"I see. Did you find your way back all alone?"

She grinned at him and nodded, apparently proud of her accomplishment. "Mmhmm!" She fumbled with the drawstring around her neck and held her charm out for him to see. "'When you wear this woven band…'"

He took it with a smile. "'You hold the city in your hand'. What a clever little girl!" He sank back on the bed, and she rested her head on his chest. Clopin hadn't expected her to leave anyway. He didn't really want her to.

"Did you get my miracle?"

His breathing stopped and Clopin stared down at her. "_What_?"

Esmeralda blinked and beamed. "I sent you one! The Archdeacon said you probably needed one, an' I was afraid Mary might forget, 'cause there are so many people in France. Mine prob'ly wasn't as good, but I thought it would help."

He started laughing then and gathered her up in another hug. "It's the best miracle I've ever had, Esme!" Clopin exclaimed jovially. "Thank you very much."

She smiled sleepily. "You're welcome."

They were both asleep before his head hit the blankets.


End file.
